Book of Sand
by RJtheShadow
Summary: A Fanfiction taking place in the Fallout universe (specifically the New Vegas setting) where I inject my characters into the world in a 'universe gone wrong' style. The story of the 'protagonist', Richard, gets told in a variety of perspectives.
1. Part 1 - Chapter 1

He wasn't really a big, strong guy or even tall. Richard was just a man. One of us, it would seem.  
He heeded the call of the NCR to support the War Effort. But, like many, the patriotism was mixed with a hint of greed, maybe need?  
To feed a family, a man needs currency. And the currency this day and age is caps.

Even if the NCR wanted to pay in paper money, and even if the exchange rates were horrible, it was still money. It was still a cap closer to the next loaf of bread and piece of meat.

But the NCR doesn't always win. Sometimes, grounds are lost, or left unprotected with no real notification.  
Left to the bandits, the people groaned. Safety, lost.  
In one such homes, Richard had a family.

A tragedy it was to find such a homecoming. Wife and child. Stabbed a few times.  
Aside the splats of blood on their chests, they almost looked peaceful. Sleeping ragdolls on the floor.  
Like Angels at rest.

Service rifle in hand, he hunted for the culprits.  
Tens, hundreds, thousands of miles, he would hunt down the bandit group that did this injustice to his family and torture them all until they beg for death.  
Such was his anger.

With the good part of the afternoon gone, his search was unfruitful.  
His fellow NCR comrades however had found a man in the area, surrendering himself as he had but a knife.  
No match against the mass produced but still effective Service Rifles.

The necklace of Richards wife was found in his hand, used to bargain for his freedom.  
He was, by all accounts, a bandit. But he looked more the part of a worn out and desperate thief.  
A beggar, a worm.

Richard was informed, and did not take long to find his colleagues.  
But by the time he had arrived, gunshots were heard.  
The man turned out to have a grenade in his pocket, and seemed intent on using it.  
He wasn't fast enough.

So there he was, revenge taken away from Richard, dropping to his knees besides the corpse.  
For a moment he stared, seemingly broken.  
Not knowing what to do, he turned his gaze toward the dropped grenade.  
Slowly he picked it up. The pin was still secure.

"DROP THE NADE, RICHARD. YOU KNOW THE RULES."  
He did know. Since the Powder Gangers, explosives were being put tabs on.  
Explosives were to be confiscated by a soldier on duty and immediately sent toward storage.  
He was off duty, he shouldn't be holding that.

Rules, laws. He clenched his hand around the grenade. Something had snapped within him.  
Only too fresh his scars of the war, of his friends, dropping like flies in but one of many battles…  
A family gone, his revenge taken by the very country that's now ready to turn against him on the spot.  
It was like a bad joke, but nobody was laughing. Nobody would, but him.

So when he was told to stand down by some rookies, fresh meat, boys who never tasted their first battle, he did not comply.  
He looked them straight in the eyes. And as they gazed back, they saw there was nothing left to read.  
A void where his soul should be, they felt unrefined fear, so they steadied their aim on him.

A cackle starts, and he begins a sudden and fierce sprint, right at them, grenade in hand.  
Bullets were fired aplenty, some even hitting him, but stop he did not.

On his stride forward, his hand pulled the pin, and rolled the grenade forward between their legs.  
They flinched, a sign of their inexperience, turning toward the impending explosion.  
They were ready to jump away, but Richard had dashed right into their back, dropping one of the poor fools right on the deadly pineapple.

The explosion mangled the man, largely sparing Richard.  
Raising himself from gory remains, almost resembling a Rorschach test.

The explosion hadn't been entirely blocked. Some of the explosion hit the other soldier right in the ankles.  
And as he whined in pain, Richard calmly walked to the lifeless corpse of the Bandit he thought his family's murderer, and took his knife.

The soldier saw him coming, crawling backwards desperately as he waved his hand, begging for mercy.  
But Richard had no ears for it anymore. He wanted to drop down to his knees, and plant this knife in the boys chest.  
An undiscriminating thirst for blood. Any blood.

Three lie dead now, four if you count the heart of this broken man.  
His hands messy with blood, and the sands of the Mojave sticking on it.


	2. Part 1 - Chapter 2

A husk of a man crosses the hot sands. What does he seek? Respite? Redemption? Revenge?  
None of these things seem to suffice for the man. He lost his heart, his faith and his hope.  
All the courage that remained, had turned into a bitter desire for chaos, for blood. For carnage.

In the night he managed to fall asleep, passing out on the road, he dreamed of only one thing.  
Not his wife and child, not their murderer… but the mangled body he raised himself from, bloodied and dirty.  
Slowly, his mind adapts to it. No longer a nightmare, but an infatuation.  
A desire to recreate what had become imprinted as an art form.

And as the day continued after, he found himself softly laughing.  
His mind was blank, instructing his legs to carry him forward, inch by inch. Almost like a zombie.  
And when a bullet flew past his head, he almost responded as one.  
But instead, he dropped to his knees. Was this his destiny? To die a monster's death after suffering the purgatory of the sun?

A second shot never came.  
A posture closed in on him, muttering "Ain' never seen a Ghoul do that... sir, can you hear me?" the voice called out.  
As the distance was closed, it would turn out to be a Ranger.  
Fabled warriors allied with the NCR, renowned for their skill and precision… despite missing now by only a hair.

But Richard looked like a mere shadow of his former self, looking like a heap of bones covered with a flesh colored bag and some ripped clothing.  
He seemed like no threat, so the Ranger came closer, pulling out a bottle of water.  
Kneeling down, he offered it.

Richard turned his head in response, observing the man briefly. Then he slowly crawled closer.  
In an apparent attempt to lean on the man, his hand leaned on the Ranger's impressive chestpiece.  
Truly this armor was befitting the legends they protect.

Slowly, his other hand grasped the bottle. Shaking fiercely, he risked spilling most of the drink.  
But the Ranger quickly added his hand to stabilize the shaking man.  
"...You're welcome" said the ranger with a soft chuckle.  
And then a cough. It seemed like something splatted on the inside of the helmet.

He looked down, and saw a knife embedded in this stomach. Right into an exposed crevice of the armor.  
"I'll be taking that armor now." Richard said, no longer shaken nor weak.  
Despite his fragile appearance, he somehow managed to conjure the vitality to press the knife even deeper.  
Hell, he picked the heavy armored man from the ground, punting him straight down on his back. Pushing the knife as deep as it would go.

"W-why" sounded the Ranger's last words. But Richard didn't answer.  
He just pulled out the knife, and quickly embedded it into the poor man's now exposed throat.

It was time, he felt. Time to change.  
To become an icon of chaos and fear. A visage none will forget.  
He needed something. Something that stood apart.  
The Ranger armor was a start, but it wasn't until he found a traveling trader that he found what he needed.

A trader in strange and uncommon curiosities. In layman's terms, that means a junk trader.  
A scavenger picking up everything he can hold, and selling it off for dirt cheap, as long as there's actual caps involved.  
The trader looked strangely toward Richard.  
Rare it is to see the face of one in a Ranger outfit, devoid of a helmet.  
But it seemed he was the lucky exception?

Sunglasses. Sure those would help in that baking sun. But it wasn't until a very specific curiosity that his interest was truly peaked.  
A powdered wig. Grey and dusty. Picked from a ruin around Washington, it passed many traders before finding it's way in the Mojave.  
And a trade was made. Some weapons and a grenade in exchange for the items and some supplies.

But before both men went on their way, Richard said "Oh hold on, you forgot this" and showed a ring on his finger.  
Upon closer inspection, it would appear to be a pin. The very pin of the grenade he had traded.

And that is the beginning of the Mojave Bomber. He began with humble grenades, and worked his way up through caravans to procure a Missile Launcher.  
Some even say they've seen him carry a Grenade Machinegun. Cackling out loud as bits of brahmin and man fly about.

Many in the NCR deny his existence, mainly to preserve the legendary status of the NCR Rangers.  
But some say that he will appear at night, armed to the teeth with explosives.  
Colonies have fallen to his sheer senseless barrage and his lack of self-preservation.  
Some witnesses claim that he has taken ten mags of assault rifle shots to his chest, and barely stumbled before his assailants too would meet their end.

The man is a nightmare.  
And soon, he will have to be stopped.


	3. Part 1 - Extra

| NCR Incident Report  
| Case Number: _0800-300-24_  
| Subject: _Attack/Siege by individual_  
| Name: _not known, referred to as Mojave Bomber_  
| Location: _Frontier's Hope_  
| Weapons used: _Mainly explosives_  
| Date: _Omitted_

| _Platoon brought in heavily wounded soldier, left leg and arm missing._  
| _Before he was brought in a coma for treatment, he mumbled something about a wig._  
| _I had my men investigate where he was found. They reported nothing._  
| _Seems this man dragged himself all the way to where he was found._

| _A week into his recovery, he was able to share more information with us._  
| _Camp Frontier's Hope had been heavily hit. We suspected by Legion at first._  
| _But the man corrected us, the shelling came from one location only, and that's when he told me of this man._

| _Apparently he's supposed to be some guy wearing Ranger armor and a powdered wig._  
| _He's not registered to us as an actual Ranger, so no idea where he got that armor._  
| _Presumably he shelled the entire area on his own, but left this man alive._

| _Said that, if he was going to live, that he had to give us one message. Namely, and I quote:_  
| _"He said… he said that, if I lived through that, to tell you guys that the Wig is back._  
| _It felt like it meant something, but I was in so much pain that I barely could keep my_ head.  
| _And then something stranger happened."_

| _He then goes to describe a small batch of Legion troops, whom had been watching this colony._  
| _They came up to him, Congratulating him on his massacre._  
| _What they hadn't expected was him shoving a grenade in their commanders fancy helmet & punting him away._  
| _Before the explosion had happened, he had fired his grenade launcher in the direction of the remaining troops._  
| _Obliterating them. With none left, he walked in the direction from whence they came._

| **On an unofficial note, insiders say a Legion camp has been hit in the exact same way**  
| **Do the brass know of this guy? He may not be discriminate, but he's still a problem**  
| **My men desperately want to take care of this guy, they had friends at that camp**  
| **I don't know if I can stop them, or whether I even want to**  
| **Some are even talking of spending their off days chasing this guy**  
| **Please advice, a.s.a.p**


	4. Part 2 - Chapter 1

Ave. As I write these words to you, know that I have always remained true to Caesar.

I was spying on an NCR encampment. Rifle in hand, I had spotted the Ranger in charge of this encampment.  
In my days of spying, I had learned some sinful things about this man. Surely he was potential blackmail material.

As I had learned his patterns late at night, I determined when to confront him.  
I was waiting on my ledge, perfecting the notes I had taken on the patrols as well. And that's when I saw him…

A man, dressed in NCR Ranger Veteran armor. But even in the poor lighting, I could see the markings being rubbed off or changed.  
As if the coat had erased all markings of it's faction.  
A foolish idea, for the very sight of the armor alone was enough to mark one out as a Ranger Veteran.  
Surely the markings served only a ceremonial purpose or such.

But he did not wear their helmet. No, instead he wore a wig of sorts.  
By my knowledge it's design dates back to the American Revolution.  
Complete with sunglasses, even though it was night, he stood right next to me.  
He had managed to sneak up on me, undetected, and stood tall as he looked in the same direction I was, even though I had been crouching the whole time.

We exchanged words for a short while.  
"You one o' dem _See-sar_ boys?"  
I was astounded. This man, who at first sight appeared to be an NCR Veteran, decided to forfeit his advantage of sneaking upon me, all for casual banter?  
As I spotted his markings, I quickly assumed that his allegiance to the NCR was maybe not as true as his sight first implied.

"Legion of Caesar." I said, subtly correcting him with the pronunciation, as we pronounce the C as a K.  
"Mortal enemies of the NCR. But I do not suspect you are affiliated with them, are you?" I continued.  
He grinned, hands behind his back, still overlooking the Camp.  
I had my rifle in hand, but his self confidence was so strong, I felt no desire to even raise it.  
Any other NCR would have shot me down or arrested me to squeeze me for information.

"Got dat right. Dese men 'ere of the NCR denied me my vengeance. I can't wash away this hate off of me soul, but..."  
He said, as he raised his hand, holding a detonator.  
"...maybe I can drown me self in it."

He pulled the trigger, and the Camp lit up.  
Explosions from every angle could be seen. Men and women of the NCR, all dying together.  
Loyal to the country, united in death. For a moment I had forgotten of my potential blackmail target. The carnage was too marvelous to behold.

As the explosions and screams died down, he still stood there for at least a minute.  
His smile had not changed, though his face started to sweat and arm started to shake.

"Boy, you got anything left to say to the ears of those who can hear?"  
Confused, I asked "What do you mean?"  
I had let my guard down. Somehow, he was quick enough to beat me unconscious.  
Looking back, knowing what pain and shame I was to endure, I should have hoped that he had killed me instead.

I woke up in shock. The more I screamed, the more I felt thick fluids go down my throat.  
He wasn't torturing me. The pain I was to endure had already started before I regained my consciousness.  
My head felt like it was about to burst open, so strong was the pain.  
As my eyes regained focus, I saw a small clump of meat on the table before me.  
I couldn't identify it, but I did quickly learn that I was tied to a chair with all my limbs and neck.

"Sorry for this, kiddo. But I couldn't trust you yapping your way into homebase and giving away in what predicament you are…"  
Still drowsy, I could not make sense of what he said. I asked what he meant, but he replied.  
"I can't make out what you are saying… I don't think anyone will, ever again."

The pain narrowed down to my jaw, until I could make sense of the clump of meat on the table.  
Then the pain really narrowed down, and I realized that I could never talk again.

I passed out again. But what looked like just a second, I woke up again.  
It seems he revived my unconscious body using some of those heretic medicine these Mojave Profligates have.

Looking at my hands while barely able to stand, I noticed that I was freed. In a way.  
A device had been attached to both my wrists, and when I looked down, I saw similar devices on my ankles… and neck.

But something heavy was on my back. I shook, trying to get a feeling.  
But a familiar voice spoke "You don't wanna do that. Can you write?"  
My shaking body barely kept me standing, but I managed to nod yes.

"Good." he said, handing me a book, which turned out to have blank pages, and a pen.  
"Travel back to your base. Write what you've learned here. Write about **me**." he emphasized.  
"I know where your base is and programmed their location into the collars.  
Take a day too long, and one wrist will explode. Do so for another day, and your other wrist will explode as well… You know how the rest goes." he grinned.  
"I'd suggest you'd write on your first night of resting… Just in case."

My eyes were torn wide open to the sight of him.  
What I first had seen as a calculated and potential ally, turned out to be nothing short of a maniac.  
He was an egotistical fool, and a threat to boot.  
His foolish desire to have his tale get spread will turn against him, even if I have to lose my arm for it.

He did not take kindly to my stare. "Get going, boy! Your god damned home is that a-way!" he said, and pointed me in the right direction.  
I knew my way around these sands, but despite my aforementioned impression, I could make little sense of him.

I am writing this with one hand, as one of these foolish powder gangers took my arm.  
Or rather, I sacrificed my arm to be rid of him. It started making a constant noise, alerting the foe I was avoiding and hiding from.  
His curiosity lead to his demise and the loss of my arm as I was holding his neck on just the right moment.  
I can still hear the explosion ring in my head, as well as the screams of the man I later realized to be myself.

I had no choice. I am sorry. I had to use their Heathen medicine to stay awake and survive.  
Just for a little bit longer. Even in my dazed state, I managed to determine that our encampment was half a days travel away.  
A quarter, were I not in this crippled state…

I hope this short diary arrives to Caesar. He must know of this threat of a man.  
Know that he is not allied with us, nor the NCR.  
He seems devoid of moral quarrels, and may yet be the biggest threat of all.


	5. Part 2 - Extra

| NCR Spy Report  
| Case Number: _70-100  
_ | Subject: _Report on disbanded Legion camp  
_ | Name: _Omitted  
_ | Location: _Unnamed Legion Camp  
_ | Weapons used: _Explosives  
_ | Date: _Omitted_

| _I was returning from a patrol with some of my Legion "comrades" ._  
| _The camp lit up like it was the fourth of july._  
| _It seems like a large explosion took the entire encampment. Starting from the center._

| _A book was found on a protruding rock._  
| _It was signed by a name I recognised as one of the scouts who was missing._  
| _I told a subordinate to read it, and to his shock he revealed that this had to reach Caesar´s hands immediately_  
| _With my cover nigh-on destroyed, I decided to order the rest of my troops to tasks that required them_  
| _to be moved far away. This allowed me to return to the NCR and make this brief report._

| **The brass NEEDS to see this**  
| **One man ruins one of our top spies cover, thank god he wasn't in camp that day**  
| **This here requires action, get this sent up as high as the president if need be**  
| **Ranger** [barely discernable]


End file.
